This Does Not Mean That Things Do Not Matter

Your wrinkled hands hold nothing
     and they are beautiful.

Your heart, an empty vessel,
     beats with perfection.

Your soul, a wind-blown leaf.

Your mind, now a grey tempest,
     was born of stillness.

Your body, a pillar of dust.

Your faith, a smile in a mirror,
     comforts a silent room.

Your love is everything
     and everything your love.

This Does Not Mean That Things Do Not Matter

One thought on “This Does Not Mean That Things Do Not Matter

Sock it to me

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